Now You See Me, Now You Don't
by truglasgowgal
Summary: He's Lazarus, brought back to life by the Hand of God. He's the phoenix who rises from the ashes of his own making. Are you watching closely?


Ok, so basically I started watching Chuck (yeah, I'm late to yet another party, what's new?) and got hooked on the character of Bryce straight away. Anyway, yeah… this is what came about. It's a little different/random; which is fairly fitting for my return tbh and sort of in keeping with everything I've done recently ha

Hope you enjoy…

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**Title:** Now You See Me, Now You Don't  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing – such old news, but nevertheless, just as sad as ever.  
**Summary: **He's Lazarus, brought back to life by the Hand of God. He's the phoenix who rises from the ashes of his own making. Are you watching closely?

"_Every great magic trick consists of three parts or acts. The first part is called 'The Pledge'. The magician shows you something ordinary: a deck of cards, a bird or a man. He shows you this object. Perhaps he asks you to inspect it to see if it is indeed real, unaltered, normal. But of course... it probably isn't. The second act is called 'The Turn'. The magician takes the ordinary something and makes it do something extraordinary. Now you're looking for the secret... but you won't find it, because of course you're not really looking. You don't really want to know. You want to be fooled. But you wouldn't clap yet. Because making something disappear isn't enough; you have to bring it back. That's why every magic trick has a third act, the hardest part, the part we call 'The Prestige'."  
__**'The Prestige'**_

.

He's seven when his brother disappears. He goes out to play one day and never comes back. They send search parties, tack photographs, trace language to paper and telephones and computers; but the boy is never seen or heard from again.

A month later and his mother leaves too; though she doesn't disappear. He knows where she is; he just can't touch her. He realizes they mean what they say with 'six feet under' when the pile of dirt set to encase her beneath his black polished shoes towers above his head, darker than the shadows it casts in its wake.

With his brother's whereabouts unknown, and his mother dead, his father doesn't leave it too long before he too leaves the boy's realm of being. Not by death or disappearance, but by the deliberate act of getting lost. He sails off into the sunset one day and simply never returns to shore.

And as his brother remains missing and his mother is still buried in the earth, he leaves the man to drift to the furthest stretches of the globe, until the silhouette of his boat becomes nothing more than a pinprick on the horizon and the currents carry him out of his reach.

At the tender age of seven years old, Bryce Larkin learns that not everything lost is found again.

Twenty years later, he capitalizes on this knowledge and becomes the ghost everyone assumes him to be.

.

The art to disappearing is coming back.

When all is said and done, when the coast is clear, returning is always the primary objective. It's the aim of any vanishing act.

There's no point in holding the cards to your chest when you can bring the house down. Only a fool would fold when the element of surprise is a given.

And it doesn't take someone much better than that to make something disappear. To bring something back, however, to bring _someone _back to life; that is a skill that very few possess.

That's what makes it magic.

.

He's risen from the ashes once already; there's no reason to stop now.

He leaves clues at times. He's lived too long with the flames licking at his feet; the absence of the pungent fumes he usually leaves in his wake has him constantly unsettled. He walks barefoot across hot stones and wonders if the reason he can't feel them anymore is because he stopped feeling anything long ago. Maybe Hell is retreating; his new identity his Saving Grace.

He uses the codename _Phoenix_ and then switches to _Lazarus, _and still he wonders why no one has gotten close yet. He's used to reinventing himself; used to living under the guise of a dead man too; but this is different. He's too isolated this time, and quite frankly, he's growing bored. He's being cocky, he knows this, but he can't help but push the boundaries ever further.

Freedom comes with a price, and his life has always felt like it was in the hands of the highest bidder.

He'd like to be the one to fully tip the scales this time; he's a Libra after all, it's in his very nature to forge his own balance.

.

There is a girl residing in the beach town as he is; with blonde hair and brown eyes and the most familiar mix of expressions he's encountered in a long while.

It makes him nostalgic; makes him remember the good times, and there were _good _times, plenty of them. It also makes him even more daring than usual, if that's possible.

(Apparently she's vacationing with her Aunt and Uncle while her parents are away on _business_. So he might've done a little recon work before approaching her, come on, was that really unexpected?Of course he has a plan, that's what makes him the best, right?)

She sits on the wall staring out at the ocean every morning, watching the sunrise as the sky casts pink and orange hues across her enraptured face.

She's a study of pure innocence, with a worldly curiosity that emanates from every flicker of her eyes, turning amber in the early-morning light.

He gets to talking to her; though he knows beneath her inherent politeness and childish indulgence is a cautiousness that is as ingrained as the courteous smiles she sends the elders who engage in small-talk with her, not nearly as entertaining as his own.

There are tells she gives off that confirm what he has already assumed; his charm and winning smile will be all she can really give to others who inquire about him. He's always been a supreme poker player.

A caterpillar crawls along the stone next to him. He turns his hand over till it is palm up and the little creature has made its way down his finger to curve along his lifeline. It cuts it in half.

She watches him with inquisitive eyes and he brings his other arm round to clasp his hands together.

He lifts them skyward, and when he opens his cupped hands a butterfly flutters out of the flesh-colored cage he's created himself and escapes along the most solid ray of light available.

She asks him how he did that. She's read books, you see, seen wildlife programs too; and that's not how it's supposed to happen.

His lips spread into a Cheshire cat smile, and his eyes twinkle like the stars on a clear night even though daylight has just come upon them.

_Ah, but you see, _he replies, and winks at her, _a magician never reveals his secrets._

.

She asks for him the next day.

_The magic-man_, the girl says, her eyes full of inquisition, _where is he?_

The elder turns his palms up; arms outstretched, he twirls his fingers as a breeze floats through the space between them.

_Disappeared,_ is what he tells her. _Vanished into thin air. Nothing left behind._

_Except what we remember of him_, the little girl says; sharp understanding and a keen intelligence running through her veins.

The man nods, murmurs his agreement.

_Do you think we'll ever see him again? _She wonders aloud, squinting in the light as the reflections from the water dance across her face like millions of tiny diamonds.

_Maybe,_ the elder replies, contemplative expression, his hands tucked under him as he joins her to stare out at the vast ocean before them, _in another lifetime._

She turns to look at him, eyes bright and open, curious, eager to know, to understand his thoughts.

_Maybe when the magic wears off, _he tells her_. Maybe that's when he'll return and you'll see him._

_But how will we recognize him? _She asks; brow furrowed, concentrating on his face.

_You look for his tell,_ he replies. _You remember the little things that you have to look hard to notice, and you remember the big things, the ones that stand out. That way you can recognize them when you see them again. Even if he looks different from what you remember, you can spot those things and you'll know it's him._

The girl looks thoughtful for a moment, lightly pensive as the wisps of gold around her head shine in the sun like a halo; a beacon of light for faraway travelers to seek out on their journey back.

_Besides, _the elder adds with a knowing smile, _magic like your friend possesses always leaves a trace. That's what makes it so special._

A slow smile curves her lips upwards, and she says decisively, _Maybe I'll just leave him to come to me. _

The elder smiles in return, and asks humorously, _So, it's like a surprise? _

She gives him a toothy grin, eyes brighter than ever. _Isn't that what magic's supposed to be all about?_

.

He's standing in the doorway, hands raised, gun loose in the grasp of his right hand.

She keeps hers trained on him, aimed at his head over his heart, because apparently that has the ability to keep pumping even when punctured by metal. When you get the chance to shoot Bryce Larkin you shoot to kill, right?

His lips twist into a smirk, he's so tempted to bait her into doing it; just so she can be witness to the miracle of life he has become. He doesn't. It's a little cruel, he knows, she's been privy to his rising-from-the-dead act one too many times already.

She looks him in the eye, brow rising and then falling like the staccato his breathing made of his ribcage at the sight of her again.

_How, Bryce? _She asks finally.

He grins, _Magic._

.

A shot rings out.

Darkness shrouds every inch of the space.

When she blinks and strains her eyes to where he stood before her, all that remains in his place is the same emptiness that surrounds her.

The only thing she has to remind her that the past is but an illusion is the ghost of his smile and the memory of the brightness in his eyes.

She has come to realize death is merely a mirage to Bryce Larkin.

Smoke and mirrors are all well and good as distracters, but when it comes down to it, the man knows how to make an entrance; or rather, a _return_.

There's a certain finesse to it; an arrogant swagger wrapped in elaborate planning and undeniable intelligence. A clever form of covert showmanship only he seems capable of pulling off.

Whatever the trick is to rising from the dead, he seems to have perfected it.

_Magic, _the air whispers around her; and she's inclined to believe it.

After all, that's twice now, but who's counting?

.

A butterfly flutters around an empty room.

A little girl watches the sunrise.

A dead man roams the earth.

.

_Magic_; it taunts from all around, with the confidant smirk of a man, and the mischievous twinkle from a child's eye. _Can you see me now?_

_._

**_The End._**

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Yeah, so it was a little random and disjointed, but this 'getting back on the writing wagon' lark is proving more difficult than originally predicted, so hopefully you'll bear with me while I work my way back into the other fandoms I've been neglecting ;)

Thanks so much for reading – please let me know what you think, it really does mean a lot!  
Steph  
xxx


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